


I Need You, I Don’t Need You

by acacia59



Category: The Who
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacia59/pseuds/acacia59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody needs someone. They just aren’t always sure who that person is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need You, I Don’t Need You

**Author's Note:**

> The title and partial inspiration for this fic is from Leonard Cohen’s “Chelsea Hotel #2.”

 “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Pete looked down at his hands guilty and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Karen…”

“You weren’t going to, were you?” Karen’s voice was emotionless and terrible. If she had screamed curses and wept upon discovering her husband in bed with the Who’s bassist, it might have been easier for all involved. But she remained the picture of calm. “In our _bed_ , Pete. You were supposed to be watching our _children_. I wasn’t surprised when I started losing you to the music, but this?” She gestured sharply at John, who stared back at her, matching her for impassiveness.

“Don’t talk about him that way.” The words were out Pete’s mouth before he had time to think about the wisdom of saying them. John’s eyes slid from Karen to Pete. The emotion that had been missing in Karen slowly began to rise and anger manifested in her eyebrows and the set of her jaw. She unthinkingly picked up a small vase from the dresser beside her and clutched it, white-knuckled.

“I don’t _need_ this…” she managed to choke out.

“You knew about me when you married me…” Pete was abruptly cut off as Karen’s arm jerked and she flung the vase across the room. It hit the wall above the bed with a splintering crash that was shockingly loud in the quiet room. Broken fragments rained down on the two men in the bed.

“The fuck I knew you then,” she said softly. “I don’t even know you now.” There was silence. Karen spun away and pressed both of her palms against the cool surface of the dresser. “Where are the girls?”

“With Towser. In the garden.”

Karen’s head jerked up. “You left our children with _a dog_ while you fucked your little…” Karen couldn’t go on. She threw one last look at Pete and left the room, not even shutting the door behind her.

Pete watched her go in shock. He felt fragile, as though if he moved something might snap, some consequence he could not bear would fall upon him suddenly and so he held perfectly still, tension in every muscle.

John swung his legs over the side of the bed and stubbed out his cigarette on Pete’s nightstand. Pete observed distractedly as the cigarette singed the finish of the piece of furniture and the ashes skittered across the surface. The ashes came to rest against a picture of Emma on the beach, sunlight caught in her blond locks. John started slowly gathering up his clothes from the floor, moving mechanically and efficiently.

“Where are you going?” He was surprised to find he still had a voice left.

“You know, Pete, this whole getting walked in on by wives? Throwing shit? Hiding and sulking about, living in terror of discovery? It’s not really my scene, so I think I am going to head out before things get too hairy.” John’s glance skittered around the edges of Pete’s gaze before settling on the door.

“Don’t you dare leave me.” They both twitched a little at the bitterness in the words.

“Or what? You’ll throw another one of your oh so attractive temper tantrums? It was cute when we were fourteen but not anymore.” John had long ago perfected the art of conveying indifference with his tone. He pulled on his jeans, heedless of the man watching the curve of his backside as he bent over. John shook out the wrinkles in his paisley shirt impatiently and shrugged it on. He did not button it.

“You won’t leave because you can’t stand to be alone. Admit it. Admit I am all you fucking have left, you sad, pathetic man,” Pete snarled, his hand curling around a jagged shard of pottery.

John stopped cold but did not turn around. He placed a hand on door jam and bowed his head. “If I needed you to take care of me, I’d be in a pretty sad state indeed. You can’t even take care of yourself.” He inhaled, bit his lip and took the first step out of Pete’s house.

Pete didn’t look up when he heard the door close softly. He was watching the bright, scarlet blood ooze from between his fingers and drip down onto the bone white sheets of his marriage bed.

***

“Pete’s watching you,” the dark-haired drummer said slyly, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the sticky bar top and a smile barely touching his lips. Dougal looked up from his pint and glanced from the somber man sitting next to him to the brooding shadow in the far corner that was indeed watching the trio with glowering eyes.

“Let him watch. I don’t give a fuck, Keith,” John growled, curled over his drink and cigarette like a bow, taut with the strain of not caring.

Keith was just sober enough to realize the macabre pleasure he took in provoking his quiet friend was one of his darker impulses and definitely not fair or kind. And yet, he was just drunk enough to be reckless. “He kick you out again?”

Dougal jostled Keith a bit with his shoulder and inched away from John. John tore layers of paper off his coaster and balled them up into little beads to keep from balling his hands into fists. “He didn’t bloody well kick me out. I left. On my own accord.” John’s eyes darted to the dark corner and back to his own reflection, distorted in the dingy mirror behind the bar. “I don’t owe him anything.”

“He needs you.” Any inflection in Keith’s voice was lost as somebody started an old Elvis record on the jukebox.

John snorted in denial. “He needs all of us. We’re his fucking band.”

Keith smiled again, like a snake. “Come on, Ox, don’t give me that bullshit. I show up, play drums and that’s it. But you and Pete…”

“You’re his muse.” Dougal interjected, unexpectedly.

“Like hell.”

The tortured screech of a chair sliding across the rough wooden floor interrupted them. Pete stood abruptly and walked out of the bar with the exaggerated care of someone who was trying very hard not to act inebriated. John watched the way he carried his head as if the whole world had nothing in it that mattered to him. Pete stared straight ahead and did not pause as he passed by. John let go of a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“You are going to go after him, you know.” Keith stole a few of John’s paper wads and flicked them at a couple sitting side by side in a booth near the bar. John jumped and turned to Keith in astonishment. “Maybe not tonight. But eventually.” The man in the booth turned angrily towards them and saw just who was harassing him. He averted his eyes and turned away quickly.

“Shut your bloody trap, you git.” John stood up. “I am getting real tired of this shit.” Keith watched him leave, knowing full well which shit he was referring to.

***

Pete walked slowly through the abandoned studio. His footsteps echoed strangely as he peered down darkened corridors in an attempt to find company…or perhaps to assure himself that he was alone.

“Nice of you to show up.” John stepped out of a shadowed doorway leading into a large storage area. His face was shuttered and he toyed with a pack of guitar strings. He seemed to be almost a stranger.

“Where is everybody? It’s not that late…” Pete glanced down at his watch and blanched. Lately, patches of time seemed to be disappearing from his recollection like a gossamer scarf on the breeze.

“The high and mighty Townshend.” John advanced a few steps closer and Pete retreated, nervously. “Descended from his tower to mingle with the common folk.”

“John…”

John pushed Pete roughly against the wall. “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want any of your bullshit.” He pressed his body against the other man and could feel his heart, fluttering helplessly in his narrow chest. “I want you to fuck me until neither of us can walk straight,” he breathed, his lips pressed against Pete’s ear. Pete’s hips bucked, involuntarily and he pushed John away and backwards a few steps into the storage room. John was always taken off guard by the tenacious strength in the wiry man. He stumbled and caught himself against the edge of a saw horse.

Pete slammed the door behind him and approached John predatorily. John shivered and placed his hands on either side of him on the rough wood of the saw horse. Pete knelt down in front of the other man, the creak of his knees covered up by the low moan that escaped the bassist at the sight of Pete’s tousled, chestnut head bent over his crotch. Pete wrestled with his ornate, gold belt buckle for a moment before figuring out the trick of it and roughly unzipping his fly.

Pete rested his forehead on John’s thigh with a heavy sigh, his cheek pressed against the hot bulge in John’s cotton pants. John hesitantly twined his fingers into Pete’s hair, speechless as always at the sight of dark thoughts flicking past in the guitarist’s eyes. Pete raised his head and pulled at John’s waistband until his trousers were puddled around his ankles. John lifted his hips to facilitate the maneuver and hissed as his naked cock brushed against Pete’s face.

Reaching out his hand, Pete held John’s heavy length, squeezing firmly against the swelling rush of blood. They both shuddered at the contact.

“Please…” John keened. Pete moved his hand to the base of his erection and, without preamble, swallowed him whole. John’s fingers tightened on the edge of the board he was seated on to keep from thrusting frantically into Pete’s throat.

John watched the sweet sight of Pete with his cock in his mouth. “Wait,” he croaked out. Pete looked up and then pulled away. John shuddered at the sudden coldness of the air touching his wet erection. He plucked at Pete’s sleeve. “I want to see you.”

Pete raised an eyebrow but pulled off the shirt without comment. He then returned to his task with renewed vigor, his tongue pressing against the underside of John’s cock with a subtle friction that had him driving into Pete’s mouth in short, jerky strokes.

Pete’s eye’s flicked up to meet John’s and he found that he couldn’t hold back any longer. He grasped Pete’s head and thrust deeply. He managed to relax his throat and take John all the way in. All finesse was lost as he came partially off of the seat and picked up his pace. The sound of his breathing was loud in the cluttered room.

His orgasm took him almost by surprise. “Oh!” he gasped and poured himself out in shuddering spurts. Pete’s lips tightened around him and his hand clenched, his knuckles digging into John’s stomach. As John’s spasms wound down, Pete pulled away. John clutched at his hair and then let go.

Pete spat into his hand and pulled John down to the ground with the other. John landed in a tangle of limbs but gradually sorted himself out onto his hands and knees in front of Pete. His arms trembled as the last of his orgasm racked through him, but despite his completion, he felt a deep-seated urge for the other man still. Pete pushed John’s shirt up to reveal the clean planes of his back and fumbled one-handed with his jeans until they were pushed down around his knees.

Pete applied the still warm results of John’s completion to his cleft, slipping a finger inside the man quickly and smoothly. John pushed back against him, relishing the intrusion. Pete worked another finger in and started to work against his tight muscles. He grazed against John’s prostate, tantalizingly.

“Just get to it already,” John growled. His knees ached from the hard floor and the effort of supporting himself while Pete delved deeper into him was almost too much.

“Get to what?” Pete asked, coyly.

“Just fuck me! Jesus Christ!” Pete removed his fingers abruptly and John gasped. They were quickly replaced by the slick hardness of Pete’s cock, rubbing between the globes of John’s ass and being lubricated by the wet remains of his come. Pete pulled away and positioned the tip of his cock against John’s entrance. John pushed back just as Pete pushed forward and the sudden fullness made him tense until he forcibly made himself relax.

Pete’s breath caught in his throat as John’s tightness enveloped him and pulled him down. He rutted into the man, animalistic in his passion. Sweat broke out on his forehead and on John’s back. He watched as the droplets of perspiration ran together and down John’s side. He picked up his pace.

Too quickly, Pete felt something uncurl and tense in the depths of his balls. John’s taste lingered on his tongue, reminding him of the duration of the ache of his denied desire. John felt the fumble in his rhythm and braced himself more firmly against the floor. Pete deepened and lowered his angle slightly, driving into John fiercely. John gasped and his cock stirred, electric pangs of sensation shooting through him. His muscles tightened.

Pete yelled out inarticulately and came, pushed as deeply into John as physics would allow. John collapsed, landing on the ground with the weight of Pete on top of him. Pete recovered himself slowly, gasping for air like a drowning man. Beneath him, John found that he couldn’t breathe. Finally, Pete rolled off of the other man. They both cried out at the disconnection.

Pete laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, obscured by the haze that danced across his vision. There was a ringing in his ears that prevented him from thinking clearly. With effort, Pete pulled himself up to his feet. He stood there, aimlessly.

“You are never fucking going to leave her, are you?” John asked, bitterly. He sat on the cold concrete floor and watched the dust dancing in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight that had sifted down through the rafters and duct work and splashed across his hand. He noticed age spots on his wrist that he had never seen before. He felt Pete’s come begin to leak from his body. He felt raw.

Pete didn’t say anything. John hadn’t really expected him to. Pete ran a hand through his hair and then stopped abruptly and picked up his shirt. He clutched the shirt to his chest like a shield, closed his eyes before turning to John with an expression that the other man knew all too well, because he had worn it far too often. It was the leaving look.

“This is the last time,” John said. It was almost, but not quite a question. Nearly just about a plea.

Pete knelt awkwardly and pressed his hand to John’s cheek. John leaned into the touch and reluctantly met his eyes. He tried to convince himself that he saw in them what he needed to see. “Go,” he whispered, hoarsely.

Pete nodded. He got to his feet gracelessly and pulled up his jeans. He reached for the door knob but paused, a few fingers brushing the handle’s cool surface, and said, “For what it’s worth, I love you. Or loved you, anyway.”

And he left John sitting, naked and alone, but feeling freer than he had in months. From somewhere, he heard the harsh cry of a raven and it echoed in the silent room.

***

Karen was sitting on their bed, a picture frame that normally sat on the dresser in her hand. She traced the outline of the people in the photo with one shaking finger, herself, next to Pete in his suit looking so young and happy next to John. She choked back a sob and angrily pressed her knuckles under her eyes and blinked rapidly.

Pete pushed the door open all the way. The door made a soft sigh as it opened and Karen jerked her head up. She stared at Pete with wide eyes, silently. Her fingers clutched and opened reflexively and the frame fell to the floor. Pete sat down on the bed beside her, not quite looking at his wife but not looking away. They sat next to each other in silence for a while, each of them not quite willing to break the silence first, each preoccupied in playing out the impending conversation in their own head over and over again.

Finally Karen spoke, “You came back.” Her voice was small.

Pete picked at his sleeve, nervously cleaning off lint that wasn’t there. “I should never have left.”

“No,” Karen agreed. She set her jaw and went on, “I can’t be what he is for you.”

Pete laughed, humorlessly and high. “I don’t think even he could be what I thought he was for me.”

“Do you think that we can start over?”

“No. But maybe we can redo a few things.” Pete took her hand, almost shyly and brought it to his lips. He raised his deep blue eyes to meet hers for the first time since before she had walked in on him…here, in this very bedroom, all those long weeks ago. His eyes were wide and vulnerable and showed no hint of the hurt he was capable of selfishly inflicting except a deep-seated sadness. He squeezed her hand gently and subtly caressed her palm with the edge of his thumb, his calluses in rough contrast to her soft flesh. His mouth ghosted over the back of her hand and the warmth of his breath sent chills running over the surface of her skin.

She caught her breath and opened and closed her mouth a few times, eyes pinned beneath his. Finally, she found her composure and spoke, “I have lost you to so many things. Music. The sea. J…John.”

“I always come back.” He paused and lowered her hand, covering it with his other hand. “You won’t lose me again.”

“Liar.” She whispered.

“Maybe,” Pete replied and shrugged. She put her hands up suddenly and grabbed each side of his face, pulling him towards her. They kissed, hard and fraught with some emotion neither one could define. She felt a wetness on her face and opened her eyes as Pete pushed her down onto the bed. Tears were sparkling on his eyelashes in the morning sunlight that filtered in through the lace curtains.

Karen brushed his face in awe and Pete rubbed a hand across his face angrily. He pushed his other hand up under her shirt, running his palm in a firm line up her side and came to rest pressed against her breastbone. She arched into his touch and curled her hand around his hip, crushing him closer to her. He bucked as their groins made contact. He captured her mouth again and suddenly she was crying, helplessly.

“Pete…”

“Hush, now,” he whispered and began to kiss away the moisture on her face. She clung to him, desperately. He held her waist, sinewy fingers pressed into her vulnerable skin almost painfully.

“I don’t need you.”

“I know. It’s…it’s alright.”

***


End file.
